


Five Hundred Miles

by Reda



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Fluff, Romance, Seven Year Gap (Dragon Ball), Smut, Three Year Gap (Dragon Ball), it's VegeBul through the series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28070319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reda/pseuds/Reda
Summary: A curious fling, an unexpected responsibility, and somehow Vegeta and Bulma discovered a relationship that meant more than either one ever believed possible.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 34
Kudos: 85





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This goes along with my "Story of My Life" Dragon Ball collections. This includes all the major pairings through the series (started with Goku/Chi-Chi with "A Thousand Years"). Each fic is structured to stand on its own but if you want to follow through the whole story chronologically with each pairing, I put little "road map" signals at the end of the chapters that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it does say 100 chapters, I think I'm only going to have about 24 or so of it actually following the in series canon. The rest will be a made up adventure that takes place after Beerus and doesn't involve Resurrection F or Super (mostly because I planned this out before those ever came along)

~!~

" _Hey homeboy...Unwind a little and see what life has to offer you...You're actually kinda cute." - Bulma, Dragonball Z, English (Funimation) Dub_

~!~

Bulma sighed as she once again opened the fridge to find it emptied of all contents. Not only emptied but left with a mess of things scattered throughout the shelves, not to mention all the boxes and plastic containers littering the counters around the kitchen. She knew Saiyan appetites were insane with borderline offensive table manners – after all, she had traveled with Goku in the past and she felt sorry for all that Chi-Chi had to put up with...but this was beyond ridiculous!

"Oh, looks like someone was hungry," her mother said with her usual clueless glow.

Sighing again, Bulma shut the door to the fridge. "Yeah and rude as all hell about it, too."

Her mother didn't seem to notice the comment at all. "I'll have to tell the kitchen staff to increase the grocery budget."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Already done, mother. Vegeta just prefers to sneak around the complex instead of joining us at actual meal times."

"Oh, so Vegeta's the hungry one," her mother chipped in happily, even as she started to move about the kitchen, cleaning the mess. "Well, you should invite him to breakfast sometime."

Another sigh. Damn but her mother could be slow sometimes. There was no doubt in her mind that her genius brain came from her father. Some days she even wondered what thin thread of DNA connected her to her airhead of a mother.

"Why should I even bother? He clearly just wants to be left alone."

"Oh, he's just shy, dear."

Bulma blinked. "Shy?"

How on earth could her mother believe such a thing about Vegeta? The man was a cold, ruthless warrior. Why, most of her friends hated him, unable to accept the fact that she had so willingly allowed the man into her home. After all, he had killed Yamcha, her boyfriend. Then again, once her jerk of a boyfriend was wished back life he had managed to gather a crew of girls clawing for his attention yet again. She still wasn't sure why she put up with him.

At least Vegeta kept to himself and didn't fawn over other girls...or any girl at all really. Trust a Saiyan to be so clueless when it came to flirting. Of course her flirts had all been an experiment to test the waters on how far she could tease him. Because, hell, if she could tease Vegeta and she didn't get blasted for it, then she could stand to live with him safely, right?

"Uh huh," her mother said to break her thoughts. "Poor boy broods all the time and watches everyone from a distance. That's the sign of someone who's shy, honey. He just doesn't know how to handle social interaction. It's great that you're trying to help him, dear."

"What?" Bulma blinked. "I'm not trying to help him. And he's not -"

She cut herself off and decided to think about it for a moment. Vegeta. Shy. Huh. Well, her mother was right about him staying away from social situations, but she'd never thought it was because of...well...there was that time before, too. Before she had invited him over with everyone else. He'd said an idea to help them wish back Goku, she'd complimented him, they'd met eyes, and he'd looked down almost immediately. She hadn't seen that side in a while, so she'd forgotten all about it.

Well, then. There it was – a new goal. Bring Vegeta out of his shell.

~!~

He was walking out of the kitchen, carton of juice in hand, when the woman cornered him in the hallway. Her presence caused a sense of discomfort that he chalked up to the fact that he was wearing nothing more than a pair of blue pants. After a few days and nights in this dwelling, he was beginning to grow accustomed to walking the halls at night without interruption, so donning the full Saiyan armor had quickly become pointless. Except _her_ being here made him regret the decision.

When she pushed her face up into his, it was no wonder his eye twitched in response. And then of course she had to open her mouth. "Don't you have any decency at all?"

The statement alone turned off his initial response. All the phrases he had planned to snap at her suddenly disappeared at the single question. Who was this woman to speak to _him_ about decency? When she walked around wearing such tight garments and showing so much skin even a Saiyan female would be ashamed... He made sure to keep his eyes on hers and refused to allow them to wander as they wanted. Surely it was some ploy on her part.

"No response, huh?" She went on, tilting her head but eyes caught on his, narrowing a little before a small smirk spread across her face. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

The phrase caught him off guard again. "What? Cat...?"

Because, honestly, what in the hell was she even talking about? What did a cat have to do with his tongue? What did any of this have to do with decency? This woman was impossible to understand; he still wasn't sure what had possessed her to invite him over to her place, as if he wasn't someone to be feared anymore. Well, then, he'd teach her just how -

A finger poked into his chest and he blinked, breaking contact with her eyes to stare down at the obtrusive touch. "It doesn't matter, I guess. You have some nerve, though."

 _He_ had some nerve? Once again, his words were impossible to pin down. Why did she keep doing that, saying things that didn't make any sense? _She_ was the one who -

"I mean, honestly, if you're going to walk around late at night that's one thing," the woman continued, removing her finger and stepping back _finally_. "But can you at least have the decency to clean up after yourself if you decide to raid the kitchen?"

All the meaning of her past statements crashed into him all at once and his mouth opened without much thought. "Food? This is about food?"

Her blue eyes went to the carton of juice in his hand. "Well, yeah, at least it's about the mess you leave. What did you think this was about?"

Feeling his eye twitch, he shook his head and decided he'd had enough of this conversation. It had already spiraled way out of any semblance of understanding and getting his ground around this woman was going to be more difficult than it should be. His best response was to just push her to the side and walk back to the room he had chosen upon arrival.

To his annoyance, the woman continued to rant at him even as he walked past her and on down the hall. Her voice echoed in his mind, spouting such things as "clean up after yourself" "this isn't your precious palace" "I don't care if you are a prince" and of course a piercing shout complaining about his attitude for "ignoring her." He left it all behind him, hardly sparing her a glance as he left.

~!~

Bulma sighed as she once again opened the fridge to find it emptied of all contents. So much for that talk with Vegeta. Nothing seemed to phase him. He couldn't even -

She blinked at the sudden realization. There _was_ something different this time. Sure, most of their food was gone, requiring yet another quick trip to the grocery store, but instead of scattered containers, torn plastic, or boxes spilled over the counter there was a clean surface. An organized pile of dishes and trash. Even the contents in the fridge seemed more orderly than what she recalled from before, empty or not.

Her mother walked in just as before like clockwork. "Oh, honey, what's that face for? Did Vegeta not listen to you as you hoped?"

With another blink, Bulma glanced around the room one last time, then felt a smile form on her face as she took in the fact that the stubborn Saiyan prince had actually taken her complaint to heart. "No, actually, I think I got through to him after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collection Road Map - Next Up - Read "A Thousand Years(GoChi)" - Chapter 16


	2. Complicated

~!~

“ _Boys will always be boys,” - Bulma, DBZ, Episode 122_

~!~

Bulma sighed as she walked back into her house. After today's excitement she really needed a moment to settle down and relax. Yamcha had dropped her off and then left again, muttering some nonsense about training away from the city or finding a partner worth training with. She didn't understand nor care about the details. Ugh. If those boys had listened to her about using the dragon balls, they wouldn't even have to worry about the androids three years from now.

Oh, sure, seeing Frieza had been fun, though he wasn't exactly as she had imagined. Dealing with all the drama beforehand had been a headache, too. Vegeta coming back was surprising, though she was relieved to find out he hadn't run out of fuel on some random planet. What had been even more surprising was when Vegeta _listened_ to her, when he came inside instead of fighting with Yamcha, when she got him to take a shower and – better yet – got him to wear that pink shirt and bright yellow pants.

She held back a giggle at the image. Maybe it was too far, but it wasn't like she had an abundance of clothes in his size. Of course, it hadn't helped when _all_ of the other guys had made fun of him for the shirt.

It was no wonder she walked into the house to see the bright outfit lying on the floor in the hallway. No doubt Vegeta shed the embarrassing garments the second he got the chance. Too bad. He was kind of cute in those colors.

“Oh, dear,” her mother; Bulma groaned as she bent down to pick up the clothes. “Did Vegeta not like the outfit you gave him?”

“Not really, Mom,” she replied. “You know how these tough guys are.”

“What a shame.”

Rolling her eyes, Bulma started making her way to the nearest laundry room; she'd have to make sure to wash these even if he hadn't been wearing them for long. After all, they were starting to smell. At least it wasn't as bad as his Saiyan uniform; _that_ had been such a horrendous odor she still wasn't sure if the washing machine had cleaned it up enough.

“I suppose he didn't catch on to your flirting either, did he, honey?”

Feeling her face flushing, Bulma turned around to snap at her mother. “Mom! I am _not_ flirting with him!”

“Oh, you're not?”

“Mom, I have a boyfriend!”

To her surprise, her mother simply shrugged her off. “Oh, honey, that Yamcha fellow is sweet and all but you two are never together for long without having some problem tearing you apart.”

“Ugh! Mother!” Bulma turned to ignore her and even picked up her speed, head down because whether or not someone was around she couldn't stand having her mother spell out her relationship issues out loud like that. “For the last time, I am _not flirting_ with _Vegeta_.”

She noticed the feet in front of her path before she had the chance to change her speed. Her face slammed right smack into someone's sweaty bare chest and when she looked up to shout at the idiot in her way, her tongue got caught in her throat.

Vegeta.

~!~

Was this woman just destined to run into him in the hallways of this large dwelling place? He was not in the mood to deal with her and certainly not now. After all the bullshit he had endured because of the outfit she gave him to wear in place of his armor...one thing was for certain, he was not going to be trusting her anytime soon. Feeling his eye twitch just at the reminder, he fought the urge to shove her roughly to the side.

To his pleasure, she actually moved away without him having to do anything. To his surprise, she didn't say a word to him. No barks of complaints for standing in her way. No off hand comments about walking around without a shirt on. No demands to shape up his attitude.

He frowned at another realization. The woman wasn't even looking at him. Her eyes were trained to the floor. Her hands crumpling up the clothes she held – the garments she had given him and he had quickly discarded at his earlier convenience. There might have been a little flush in her cheeks but he had no clue what to make of such a display.

Something was wrong with her, then. From all he'd seen of this woman so far she wasn't the type to stand by so meekly. What was her deal? Was she upset over her idea being so harshly turned down? Not that he cared but if she was going to mope around about losing one argument…

He scowled. “There's no need for you to wash those, woman. You might as well toss them now.”

Her eyes snapped up at that, glaring with the fire he was familiar with. “Oh, you really are just a spoiled little shit, aren't you?”

“The hell -”

Before he could rip her apart for speaking to him like that, she moved forward. Her finger pressed into his chest in that confusing but familiar gesture. He was sure now that it was some type of dominance attempt and as much as he expected such from her it still came as a shock because of her timing.

“Look, mister,” she said, leaning in to glare right in his face. “Since you're so upset over the guys making fun of you for these clothes, I've decided to take you shopping. I don't know what you were planning to do as far as training goes, but you can't go walking around the house wearing next to nothing all the time.”

“What?” He said, feeling his eye twitch. “I'm not going anywhere with you, woman.”

“Oh yes you are,” she snapped back, crossing her arms as she pulled away from him at last. “You can put off training for one day. It's not going to hurt you.”

“Idiot woman,” he growled. “Every second counts.”

Her eyebrow raised; her lips lifted into a smirk. “Oh, really? Then why aren't you training right this second? If it's so damn important to you, you'd think -”

That was it. The tipping point in this conversation. He'd had enough. Dr. Brief's gravity chamber wasn't ready yet because he'd just made the demand but there was no way in hell he would ever waste time with this woman. And there was no way in hell he would sit here and listen to her any longer, either. He should be training – gravity chamber or not. Of course he would never admit that she'd actually made a point, but he didn't have to stand here and suffer her company in the first place.

“Get out of my way,” he growled.

His energy was starting to build around him but she didn't seem to notice or care. “Not until you agree to go with me tomorrow, jerk.”

“I will do no such thing,” he said, and yes his energy was definitely rising. “Now get out of my way.”

“No,” she stated, standing her ground.

_Insufferable woman._

Fine. If that was how she wanted to play, then he'd meet her fool stubborn demands with his own hard head. Where she got the idea of him _shopping_ with her, he couldn't imagine. No, maybe he could. After all, this woman seemed to have the respect and fear of all her other male comrades, even Kakarot. She'd been on Namek, too. Better, yet, she had _survived_ on Namek, even without the power to fight for herself.

Arms crossed, body turned slightly, eyes glaring but _demanding_ all the same. She looked like a leader despite her lack of power. For just a moment, it threw him off guard. How could a silly, weak woman appear so damn intimidating?

His energy spiked at the thought of an _Earthling_ appearing _intimidating_ to him. He was the Prince of all Saiyans. He bowed to no one. For her to expect such subservience from him the same way she gained such from the other members of her crew…

Vegeta scowled as he gathered his rising energy and prepared to fly off. She didn't even deserve a response. She was beneath him. He would show her just how wrong she was to expect him to cave to her demands. If she wanted anything from him now, she'd have to beg for it.

~!~

“Ow!”

Bulma hit the floor hard when Vegeta took off like that. He flew through the room and out of the nearest open window without any kind of care for the mess his exit caused. She barely managed to hang on to the clothes in her hand, probably because she was so startled by the sudden rush of force that she gripped onto whatever she could in tight claws. A flash of hanging from a cliff while on Namek shot through her mind, but she quickly forced the terrifying memory to the side. This wasn't Namek. Just Vegeta throwing a temper tantrum.

“Gah!” She exclaimed, huffing on the floor. “I swear he exists just to piss me off! I try to do something nice for him and he runs off.”

“Oh my!” Her mother gasped, somehow still standing upright though her hair was frazzled. “Well, I knew men didn't like the idea of shopping, but -”

Bulma rolled her eyes as she climbed to her feet. “It's not that, mother. He just doesn't like getting told what to do, even if it would be good for him.”

“Oh, well are you going to try again, dear?” Her mother went on. “You're right about him needing new clothes.”

She looked down at the bright pink in her hand and sighed. She really wished those boys hadn't made a joke about the pink every other line. He actually looked kind of nice in the color, but of course he would never wear it again. If they hadn't made such a spectacle of him, he wouldn't be so uptight right now, either. Even Goku had to make a smart remark – granted, Vegeta probably deserved it then for his comment on Goku's alien outfit. But _still._

She threw the clothes up in the air and resisted the urge to tear them to shreds right then and there for all the fuss they'd caused. Let them sit on the floor. She didn't care anymore.

Why couldn't Yamcha be here? She needed someone to rant to and her mother was just going to piss her off with her clueless attitude. Yamcha would at least join her in bad talking Vegeta. Oh, he'd probably love the chance, too, but was he around? No. He was off doing something on his own. Like usual. He'd probably come crawling back when he got bored or ran out of money and then she wouldn't feel like ranting anymore. Except at him.

“Oh, Bulma, dear.”

Just as she was about to escape the room, too. “What, Mother?”

“You should take Yamcha shopping with you.”

Freezing in her steps, Bulma turned to face her mother, feeling the anger simmer because of the crazy suggestion. “Why would I bring Yamcha?”

Her mother shrugged. “Well, he's just the type to do whatever you want and – oh – maybe he can help you pick out some nice outfits for Vegeta.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Great idea, Mom.”

Although her mother didn't pick up on the sarcasm, Bulma paused anyway as the wheels turned in her mind. What if she _did_ take Yamcha with her? She'd get to see her boyfriend being jealous, but she'd also have someone to keep her company as she tried to find a style that the “almighty Prince of all Saiyans” would find appropriate. It could be a date of sorts. Better if she could convince Vegeta to come along, too, but that didn't seem likely. Especially not now.

Still…

“Yeah,” she muttered, clapping her hands together. “Great idea. Yamcha likes taking breaks from his training anyway. It'll be a great excuse for us both to get out and do something together.”

“That's the spirit, darling,” her mother chirped. “And who knows? Maybe Vegeta will appreciate what you do and start flirting back.”

At that, Bulma felt her face heat. “For the last time, Mother, I am _not_ flirting with Vegeta!”


	3. Making History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scenario here was inspired by a true story my sister once shared with me.

~!~

“ _Then she saw my father sitting all alone and it just...happened.” - FutureTrunks, DBZ, Manga Chapter 141_

~!~

Bulma yawned as she stepped out of her room. Her hair was a mess from its nest on top of her head, but that didn't matter at 5 in the morning. She had plenty of time to fix herself up before anyone else could see her. Not many others woke up this early in the first place. To be honest, she wasn't always an early riser herself, but sometimes certain projects could keep her awake all night and then it became a vicious matter of turning her cycle back into a normal pattern only for the creative streak to cast her back into the pit of sleepless nights and exhausting days.

Still she preferred the early mornings whenever she did manage to hit this blessed period of her sleep cycle. Quiet. Serene. Peaceful.

“God damn it!”

At the shout echoing down the hallway, Bulma stood frozen in place. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and then sighed. Pulling her robe around her, making sure it wouldn't accidentally fly open, she made her way down to the kitchen where she knew _he_ was no doubt causing problems.

No one else was ever awake at this hour. No one else broke the quiet serenity of the early morning. No one else, except _him_. Her perfect time of solitude and contemplation...now perfectly ruined.

“Vegeta.”

At her entrance, she managed to catch a nice glimpse of the Saiyan's ass, and she almost regretted the decision to grab his attention. Almost.

“ _What_?” he snapped, turning to her with a murderous expression.

She raised an eyebrow. “Wow, Prince Badman, what's got you all worked up?”

His glare seemed to spark more than usual at the (totally appropriate) nickname. Oddly enough, she could almost smell something burning when his eyes flashed. Surely it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. What could he possibly find to burn? What would he be doing cooking anyway?

“Tch,” he scowled, stepping aside to reveal the oven behind him. “Your Earthling machine is busted.”

Bulma felt her eyes widen instantly. Her breath caught in her throat and she forgot to hold her robe together as she pointed toward the oven. The oven that was on fire.

“What did you do?”

With a growl, the Saiyan prince somehow managed to look blameless while the fire cackled behind him. “I was making toast.”

“Toast?” She exclaimed. “How did you set toast on fire?”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn't -”

Before Vegeta could lie about what he didn't do, the burning toast decided to crumble apart on the ends. A small section of crisped bread fell to the bottom of the oven and proceeded to add another flame to the ensuing chaos. Which caused a chain reaction of the little flames from the burnt bread spreading around to actually start melting parts of the oven.

What Bulma did next was admittedly not her smartest move, but for the sudden pandemonium of the moment she could argue it was merely an instinctual response. Though why she didn't go for the water, she'd never know. Probably because the roll of paper towels was sitting on the counter just within reach. And for some reason, her brain didn't consider it a bad idea to grab a handful of them and attempt to pick up the toast from the oven. The toast that was literally engulfed in flame.

Somehow, she actually managed to do it, too. Of course when she realized the paper towel was burning up in her hand, she shrieked. Stood there frozen in place as the flames licked up the remaining toast right in her hands. What now? Such a dumb idea. She'd been hanging out with her friends too long; it felt like something Goku might have done, not her, but still – _now what_?

Water splashed into her face. And soaked the paper towel. And the toast. Oh, it doused the flames, but when she looked up to see Vegeta standing there with the sink's water hose in hand... Looked up and stared back into wide black eyes. She opened her mouth to shout something, but when she noticed where his gaze had traveled, all her previous words ran dry.

Her robe must have fallen open in her movements to shake the fire because now she was standing there half naked _right in front of him_. When she noticed how his eyes seemed transfixed, she quickly realized even the Saiyans could be attracted to physical characteristics. She'd never seen Goku show much sign of affection to the looks of any female, not even his wife, but apparently that wasn't actually attributed to his race. All men were pigs in the end.

Feeling her face blushing, she stomped up to him, dropped the slop in her hand, and slapped his cheek before really thinking through her reaction at all. “Pervert.”

He seemed to freeze at the contact, the water hose dripping in his hand. She didn't bother to check where his eyes were staring anymore. Instead, she turned away and closed up her robe, taking extra care to tie it tight around her waist this time. She didn't want anymore accidents.

Before she could lecture him on the proper use of the oven temperatures, his hand grabbed her arm and spun her back around to glare at her. “Don't ever touch me again.”

“Let go,” she hissed. “That hurts.”

His eye twitched but to her surprise, he did drop his grip on her. Without a word, he turned around and set the water spray hose back on the sink where it belonged. Rubbing her wrist where he'd held her, she watched as he went about the task of picking up the mess. Well, at least he could do that much. Though he seemed perplexed by the buttons on the oven.

“Here,” she sighed, walking over to stand next to him and tap the correct buttons to turn everything off. Then she looked into the still-hot oven and winced. “We'll clean the rest of that later. Or I'll make the bots do it.”

Vegeta grunted. “Have them fix that infernal contraption while they're at it.”

“It's not broken,” she snapped. “You just had no idea what you were doing.”

His glare almost made her regret her tone. She was forgetting that this was the man responsible for the deaths of several of her friends. None of them really trusted him, either, which was why he had to come here if he was going to stay on Earth. Oh, sure, Goku would be the type to trust him and defend him if need be, but there was no way Vegeta was going to live with someone who was clearly better than him. So he came here. Because she had offered her house to him, and although she'd survived teasing him thus far it probably wasn't the best decision to keep pushing his buttons.

Made obvious by the new pain in her wrist. His grip wasn't near as controlled or gentle as all the other guys. Didn't he know she couldn't handle the same type of treatment as one of the guys? Oh, no, he probably did know; he just didn't care.

“Woman, I didn't ask for your help.”

“Well, clearly you need it,” she snapped back. Again. Before closing her eyes with a sigh. “Look. Just. Sit down and I'll get us some coffee for now. Give the bots time to start their routines and they'll be in here prepared to cook after a while. If you're always going to be awake this early, I'll have to set one up to cook when you need it.”

“Hn.”

He didn't seem pleased at the idea of listening to her, but with all the other points she made she didn't give him a choice. Or, she hoped so at least. He was looking a little more disgruntled than usual. Probably because he'd never set his food on fire before, which was odd to consider, since he _was_ from an alien warrior species. Cooking didn't seem to be a strong suit of the Saiyan race, since no matter how much Goku ate he wasn't all that good either unless it involved roasting meat, usually fish, over an open fire. A kitchen and all its machines were probably way beyond his understanding. Or in Vegeta's case, too different from the technology he was used to.

Thankfully, Vegeta did make his way to the kitchen table, settling into one of them with a grunt. He kept his arms crossed and his back straight, too. Almost like he was some tense thread just waiting to snap. Besides that, he was wearing the old Saiyan armor; the one with the hole in the chest. For whatever reason, he seemed more comfortable in that then risking the chance of being seen in pink again. Oh, brother. He definitely needed some new clothes.

His eyes stayed on her as she moved about the kitchen, too. Not that she glanced over her shoulder to check or anything, but she could feel the gaze on her back as she set the coffee machine up. Her dad was obsessed with the idea of cappuccino, but she preferred plain, regular old coffee. In the morning, at least. The caffeine drink wasn't meant to taste amazing; it was meant to wake her up or keep her going. She had to wonder what Vegeta's preference would be. As she put in the coffee grounds and the water, she giggled to herself at a memory of Goku tasting coffee for the first time, commenting on how it was awful soup. Hopefully, Vegeta wouldn't think the same.

~!~

He sat at the kitchen table and watched her work, already doing his damnedest to forget the past few moments of embarrassment. To hell with the Earthling machines and their styles of cooking. He had been so sure the idea would work, as this oven reminded him of other contraptions from his home world, from the space stations, from all the technology he had come across in the universe. And yet, here he was, relegated to watch from a table while the woman did the work for him.

Except she wasn't even making food, so that at least was a win on his part. She had seemed just as confused and blown away by the fire as he had. So much so that his knee jerk reaction had been to put the flames out when she put herself in danger. Well, he thought as he leaned back in his chair, not that she had been in any real danger. But fire was not something he toyed around with; the reaction to spray her with the water hose was understandable considering she had moved the fire from its holed in base in the oven. Like an idiot.

Definitely did not have anything to do with protecting her, and curse his thoughts for dwelling on the matter.

Scowling, he continued to watch her, continued to follow every little movement. Her weak hands hovered over a small machine, added ingredients and then settled on the counter. She didn't move, then. Just stared at the little machine, keeping her back to him. Which was fine by him. Even though her robe covered most of her body and had been secured in front of her to avoid showing any more skin, his eyes still lingered along her shapely legs. For a weak Earth woman, she was still attractive; that much, he couldn't deny, especially after seeing so much laid bare.

Still, it wasn't something worth fawning over, and he quickly drew his attention away from her to stare at the table in front of him in silence. Until she decided to break that silence. “You know, whether or not you want to go shopping, you still need something else to wear besides that ruined armor.”

He scowled. “It doesn't matter. Once the gravity room is built, I won't need to worry about such things.”

When he looked up, she had turned around to meet his glare. “Whatever then. I'll buy whatever I like and you can deal with it.”

“Tch,” he scoffed. “As if I'd wear anything you handed me.”

“That's why I need you to come with me!” She snapped, slamming her hand on the counter as if the noise could make her point for her. “If you at least come along, then you can pick out something appropriate for the mighty Saiyan prince and you don't have to be so _embarrassed_ over wearing a little pink.”

The mockery in her tone made him gnash his teeth, but he kept his mouth closed. He had learned long ago to either ignore such jabs as if they didn't bother him or to make the one responsible pay for their insolence. When it came to this woman, he couldn't kill her for her mouth, and he had no desire to physically punish her for it, either, so his options were left to responding with an equally mocking tone or to ignore her. At this point, if he acknowledged her insult, they would be here all morning and he would still be without food. It just wouldn't be worth it.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said eventually. “Especially not with you.”

Her eyebrows twitched. Her blue hair bobbed atop her ahead as she turned her head quickly. “Fine!”

Glasses clattered as the woman grabbed a pair of mugs from the counter and set them down to begin pouring her strange black beverage. Once she finished filling the mugs, she turned and walked over to set one in front of him on the table. Then, without a word, she set the other one down at the far end, presumably hers, and pulled out something labeled “creamer” and “sugar.” His attention drifted away from her and down to the black beverage placed in front of him.

What had she called it again? Coffee? With a shrug, he picked the mug up by the handle, blew at the billowing steam, and took a hesitant sip. Letting the taste linger on his tongue, he ignored the scalding hot temperature and instead found himself baffled at how much his taste buds agreed with the strange Earth drink. He took another sip, and another, after making sure to cool it down a little more each time until the hot beverage reached a temperature more agreeable to his tongue.

The woman's chuckle stopped him from downing the whole drink then and there. “Well, I was going to offer sugar and creamer to help with the bitter taste, but I guess you like it black.”

Setting the mug back on the table, Vegeta sent her a narrowed-eyed glare. “It is adequate.”

She rolled her eyes, holding her own mug in both hands, and he noticed that her drink had changed into a creamy brown color. “Adequate. All right, fine. You know, Goku hated coffee when I first introduced it to him. Not sure what he thinks about it now, but I somehow doubt he ever changed his mind.”

“Why should I care?”

She shrugged and went back to sipping at her own drink. When she clearly had nothing else to say, he went back to enjoying this coffee. Damn right Kakarot wouldn't like the same things as him. Elite warriors had better tastes anyway. He frowned, the thought once again reminding him of how Kakarot had surpassed him, of how the low class had become a Super Saiyan while he, the prince, was left in the dust.

If not for the woman's interrupting, rambling voice he might have shattered the mug as his thoughts went sour. As it was, he managed to control his strength enough to set the drink down. He was reaching the bottom of the glass anyway.

“You know, I could show you how to make coffee for yourself,” she said. “It's not too hard, and it's the perfect thing to wake you up if you want to spend even more hours training. Which I'm sure you do.”

“Hn.”

“And I could show you an easier way to make toast,” she said, her mocking grin hidden behind her mug. “Wouldn't do to have you burning the place down while the rest of us slept.”

He scowled, downed the last of his coffee, and then pushed his chair back as he stood up. “Whatever. I'll find something else.”

He could feel her murderous expression as he turned his back to her. “Or you could stop being a stubborn jerk. I'm not always in the mood to offer help, you know.”

“I don't need your help.”

“Well, you're certainly not going to find any food out there! So go ahead and starve for all I care!”

Stopping in the doorway to the kitchen, Vegeta scowled and glared at the far wall into the darkness of the early morning. No one else was awake. None of the bots were programmed to cook enough sustenance for him – or cook at this time – as she had pointed out. He _was_ hungry, and she _had_ already made something for him. Something that had actually been worth the time.

A part of him was annoyed. A large part. Annoyed at her for being right. Annoyed at the current circumstances he found himself in. Annoyed at Kakarot for surpassing him. Annoyed at the Earthlings for existing. Annoyed at himself for allowing their pitiful existence. And maybe a little annoyed at the softness within himself that he could feel starting to creep up.

Ever since teaming up with Kakarot's spawn and friend on Namek, he'd felt the change affecting him. Now, he wanted nothing more than to push that softness to the side and focus on his singular goal in life – defeating Kakarot for daring to make a mockery of the Saiyan Prince. But to reach that goal, he needed to accept his current state in life. Accept the woman, accept her help. Even if it was as simple as showing him how to create sustenance for himself so that he could train without needing to rely on anyone else. The less he had to rely on others the better, even if it meant caving in at first in order to avoid such actions in the future.

With a growl, he crossed his arms, and turned around to meet her confused blue-eyed stare. “All right. Fine. Show me, woman.”

Seeing her eyes light up made him turn his head and nearly regret his decision. She was never going to let him live this down, but he was determined to make this the last time he gave in. The absolute last.


	4. Rivalry

~!~

“ _Dad...you look so strong, proud, stern, and lonely. Just like Mom said.” - Mirai Trunks, DBZ, Manga Chapter 141_

~!~

“Why am I here again?”

Bulma narrowed her eyes and set her hands on her hips. “Well, someone has to carry everything for me. I'm certainly not doing it.”

Yamcha groaned, clearly unhappy about his current position. She supposed she couldn't really blame him. No guy liked shopping. He was the only one she could drag along with her, too, on the thin leash of him being her boyfriend.

But still, he wasn't happy about it. He scuffed his feet against the pavement outside the store and put his clenched hands in his jeans pockets. There was a certain appeal to his grumbling and pouting, but she wasn't in the mood for it right now.

“Look,” he muttered. “I don't mind going out with you from time to time. But there's androids to prepare for and -”

“Oh hush,” she snapped, stepping up close to him and leaning up into his face as much as she could manage without suffocating him with her hair. “You weren't planning to spend the whole three years training non-stop like some other people.”

They both knew who she was referring to, and Yamcha grit his teeth for the reference. “Why am I here to help you shop for Vegeta? Why are you shopping for him in the first place?”

Bulma turned away with a huff. She didn't have to explain herself to him, and when she said as much she almost missed the dark glare in his eyes. Almost. Yamcha giving dirty looks was nothing new. Not when it involved Vegeta, but he was taking it too far when he so clearly suggested the unthinkable. Then again…

She hummed as she walked into the clothes store. Jealousy was both annoying and flattering. The lack of trust on his part was annoying, but the fact that he was worried about Vegeta stealing her away of all people… that was interesting.

“Really, Yamcha,” she murmured as she wandered through an isle, checking through and dismissing most of the advertised styles. “Vegeta's on our side now.”

“I doubt that,” Yamcha interrupted as he moved along behind her. “That guy is too unpredictable.”

Sending him a glare, Bulma reached for a button-down shirt and held it up to Yamcha, trying to imagine Vegeta standing there instead. “We should be helping him acclimate to our culture.”

With an eyebrow raised, Yamcha caught her gaze. “I seriously doubt he wants to fit in, Bulma.”

She waved him off, tossed him the shirt, and then continued searching. Blues and whites should be fair game. Vegeta wore those colors naturally. Pity he'd probably never wear anything bright ever again, though. There had definitely been a certain charm about seeing the tough, angry warrior in such an eye-catching pink.

“Hey, he's here now and he's on our side now, too,” she said, picking the conversation back up. “He has no idea what Earth's culture is even like. It's just like explaining things to Goku all over again.”

“Except it's not,” Yamcha snapped. “Bulma, look, he's only working with us because he wants to beat Goku at something. If he ever does, we'll be nothing to him.”

“And that's just the sort of attitude that's going to keep him from caring -”

“Bulma, he's not _going_ to care. Not ever.”

Facing him, Bulma narrowed her eyes. Yamcha groaned as if he knew exactly what was coming. In order to prove him wrong, she kept her cool. She reached for and grabbed a blue polo shirt to toss at him. And then she set her hands on her hips and steeled herself for the incoming argument.

“He will care,” she stated. “He'll care if I have to force it down his throat.”

Yamcha groaned. Of course. “Please, don't. You're going to get yourself hurt.”

“Watch me!” She snapped back. “I'll have him caring before you guys go off fighting those androids.”

Holding his hands up, shirts included, Yamcha tried to calm her down. “Bulma, I'm serious, don't -”

“I'm serious, too!” Stomping her foot, she turned her head and then glared back at him. “Just watch me, Yamcha. I swear he's got what it takes to be like you guys. You're just too scared to give him a chance.”

~!~

Vegeta shed his shorts and shook the sweat from his hair as he closed the door and stepped into the shower. The hot water soon slammed into his aching muscles and he let out a small content sigh as his body slowly relaxed at the gentle treatment after a rough day of intense training. He rolled his neck and let the water pound against his body, allowing himself this one moment to drop his fierce exterior. One quiet moment of every day when he could relax, release all the bound tension, and enjoy one of life's simplest pleasures.

Of course with all the silence and lack of movement, Vegeta did more than enjoy the shower. He had time to think. To analyze his progress. How far had he come since he started? How much further did he have to go? When would he unlock the power of the Super Saiyan?

He wasn't _that_ far behind Kakarot. The transformation should be right at his fingertips. However, _should be_ and reality were two completely different things.

A part of him wanted to know how Kakarot did it. No, not just a part, all of him wanted to know, but it was only a small part that even considered asking. The Prince of all Saiyans should not have to _ask_ a low class warrior for the trick to becoming a Super Saiyan. Still. The question burned in his mind.

Day after day went by and still he had nothing to show for his efforts. Oh, his power level was increasing. Of course. Kakarot had trained under similar methods to reach the level he'd shown on Namek, the level he'd used to face the Ginyu Force. So of course when Vegeta pushed himself under three times the gravity his power climbed ever higher.

But it wasn't enough. Even now, Kakarot was out there training as well. Out there getting ever stronger. The insufferable idiot never seemed to slow down. And he was left in the dust, chasing after, still without the legendary transformation to call his own.

Tension began to build up in his body as his thoughts raced. He'd never encountered – or expected – such a rival before. It was driving him insane. He had to keep going. Had to keep pushing himself. Harder and harder. Whatever it took. He _would_ unlock the Super Saiyan transformation for himself and he would face Kakarot again in order to reclaim his throne, in order to take back the status that was meant to be his all along.

Yes, there was no doubt in his mind that he would make it happen. Kakarot and that strange boy from the future. They couldn't be the only ones. He had to reach the transformation for himself. He couldn't let them mock him. If it took all three years, then damn it all he would spend every hour of every day pushing for it. He wouldn't stop until the power of the legendary Super Saiyan was his to taste.

With a smirk, Vegeta released the built up tension in his body and turned the shower off. Stepping out, he wrapped himself in a towel, dried his hair until it stood up, defying gravity again, and then walked out of the bathroom into the quaint room he'd picked out on his arrival. The woman had said he could have his choice of the rooms, after all, and although this was not the largest of the options it held everything he needed and most importantly was far removed from anyone else in this damn house.

So, when he walked out and found new clothes laying on his bed, Vegeta frowned. How had she figured out which room he'd chosen? Damn bots probably gave her the information. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the little servant robots, especially when it came to cleaning his room when he wasn't occupying it.

He scowled at the mass of shirts and pants now littering his bed. So the woman had gone shopping without him after all. Just as she said she would. She was nothing if not stubborn. At the very least she'd thought to give him a variety of options.

As he dropped the towel and chose a set to wear for his dinner trip, Vegeta had to grudgingly admit that her sense of style was...adequate. Much better than the garish pink he'd been thrown days earlier. The blue and khaki combination was without a doubt much, much more acceptable.

Not that he would thank her for taking her color and style choices seriously this time. But he could at least wear these without complaint. As if anyone would be down in the kitchen at this late hour anyway.

~!~

Bulma sighed as she dug her fork into the large cheesecake. Who the hell ordered a whole cheesecake instead of just a slice? What kind of moronic person bought something like that in the first place? Why had she thought of food when trying to appease Yamcha's jealousy? Such a _stupid_ thing to do.

“ _I know what'll solve this – food!”_

“ _Food? Really, Bulma?”_

“ _What? Everyone knows the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”_

“ _You mean the best way to a Saiyan's heart.”_

“ _What the hell makes you say that?”_

“ _I don't know. Maybe because you bought the whole cake instead of our usual couple slices.”_

Shoving a forkful of cheesecake into her mouth, Bulma tried to forget the face he'd given her then. Tried to forget the finality of it all. He'd be back. No matter how many times they fought, Yamcha always came back to her. He was like a little puppy, lost without her.

Another forkful, digging into the sweet strawberry juices on top of the cake, and Bulma brooded some more on the most recent break up. Was it a break up, though? Not really. Yamcha had just told her not to call him anymore. That didn't necessarily mean he was through for good, or through for now. He needed space. He needed to focus on training. Maybe asking him to shop for clothes for Vegeta had been a bit too far after all.

She fumed as she dug into another bite. Yeah, right. He was the one who couldn't get over a grudge. He was the one who didn't want to get close to Vegeta, who didn't want her close to Vegeta. He was the one refusing to see reason. She wasn't flirting with the Saiyan, no matter what her mother or Yamcha wanted to say. She was just being nice and hospitable when no one else would. What was so wrong with that?

As if answering a cue, Vegeta chose this moment to enter the kitchen. This moment when her mouth was full of cheesecake and strawberries. He paused in the doorway, eyes catching hers. She couldn't ask the question burning on her tongue, and when he noticed her silence he continued on his way with that obnoxious smirk plastered all over his face.

She grumbled in disapproval as he went to the fridge and pulled out plate after plate of leftover dishes. Apparently, this was routine to him, at least going by the way he knew exactly where to find his food and exactly how to work the microwave as he proceeded to heat up the leftovers. So much for timing the bots to fit his schedule. He'd gone and made his own quirky little set up anyway.

Probably for the best. Ever since the gravity chamber had been installed, Vegeta had disappeared from existence. If not for the giant contraption on their lawn, she might have forgotten he was even there. Minus the fact that she'd been shopping for new clothes for him, which he appeared to be wearing right now. And the fact that they still tended to catch each other in the kitchen at odd hours of the day or night. Like some twisted unspoken accidentally tradition.

She swallowed her most recent bite of cheesecake and waved her fork in his direction, their eyes meeting even as he sat down in front of her with his abundance of plates. “So you like what I bought for you after all.”

He grunted, turning his full attention to his food instead of her. “They are sufficient.”

“Sufficient?” Bulma repeated. “You couldn't come up with a better word? What about 'fitting' or 'comfortable' or even 'stylish'? I went out of my way to -”

“Are you planning to eat that all by yourself?”

Bulma blinked, taken aback by the sudden question, by the interruption. “What?”

Swallowing his own mouthful, Vegeta pointed to the large cheesecake sitting in front of her. “That cake is a far bigger portion than anything you've ever eaten before. What happened? Did your lover boy refuse to eat with you?”

Feeling her eye twitch, Bulma pulled back her fork and stabbed the utensil into the cheesecake. “No. This is all mine.”

His knowing smile made her blood rise. How dare he. How _dare_ he read her so well. That was entirely unfair. He was supposed to be alien, supposed to be confused by Earthling actions. After all, she'd caught him off guard so many innumerable times before. Why was this so different?”

“He's a weakling,” Vegeta mumbled around his food. “Better for you to get away from him anyway.”

Unable to hold back her mouth, she quipped back at him. “Oh so now the great Prince Vegeta cares about the love life of a poor defenseless Earth woman.”

“Hardly,” he grunted, eyes actually catching hers before falling back to his food. “You're not defenseless. Or poor.”

She raised an eyebrow. No denial about caring. That was interesting.

“I have an idea -”

“Don't care.”

With a growl, she stabbed her fork into the cheesecake again, stuffing the crumbling pieces into her mouth and making a point to chew as angrily as possible. When she finished and swallowed, she shoved the plate of cheesecake towards him.

“Here,” she said. “Care to share the rest with me?”

“Not really,” he said, and she sighed, preparing to pull the plate back. At least until his fork swiped a mouthful of the cake for himself. “But I will.”

Bulma blinked in the silence. It didn't make sense. His attitude was so different from normal. Or was it? Still aloof. Still pretending not to care.

...but caring all the same. In his own little way. A way she was slowly beginning to unmask.

Yamcha was wrong about Vegeta. They all were. And she was right. Now all she had to do was prove it to the rest of them. While she watched him dig into the desert with her, keeping his distance, refusing to comment on the fact that they were sharing a couple's desert – which he probably didn't realize or know was a thing in the first place – she smiled around her fork. Oh, yes, she would prove it to the rest of them, and maybe prove it to Vegeta along the way, too.


	5. Unbreakable

~!~

“ _Okay, sure, we all know you're a tough guy, but you need to rest now.” - Bulma, DBZ Episode 124, English Dub_

~!~

Before she knew it, Bulma had settled into a new routine. Her body's alarm clock seemed set to wake up earlier than the rest of the household every morning, and every morning the same stoic prince-without-a-home met her in the kitchen for coffee. As the days passed, she learned more and more about Vegeta. One little gimmick at a time.

For one, he didn't really care for sweet things.

No sugar in his coffee. Preferred his toast as plain as possible, only spreading a minimal amount of butter and never any jelly or jam. Pancakes and waffles were the same – good as long as they weren't smothered in syrup. And french toast was just off limits.

He showed a soft spot for muffins, especially the ones with blueberries. Once Bulma discovered he actually liked one of her simple breakfast dishes, she built that into the routine as well. Coffee and muffins. After so many years of sleeping in until noon and skipping breakfast altogether, Bulma found it refreshing to be on such an early schedule – and cooking for someone besides herself on top of that, even if it was the same thing every morning. It was still something she had never expected to share with anyone, much less a still-possibly-evil alien who had killed half her friends in the past.

One of which being her boyfriend. She was sharing a morning routine with her boyfriend's killer, but for some reason that little detail didn't really bother her.

Maybe she was so relaxed around him because she trusted in his change. After all, he had spent so long with them already, and what was the worst he had done? Dug into their food supply? Yell at her for caring – or bothering him, as he put it? If she ever did fear him, that was gone now.

For one, there was a giant difference between being trapped on Namek and being home on Earth. She was surrounded by the familiar here. Surrounded by family and friends. And there was no doubt that Goku would step in immediately if Vegeta tried anything, especially with that new technique of his.

For his part, Vegeta seemed way too focused on catching up to and surpassing Goku to even begin to care about her. He wanted one thing right now, and one thing only. Bulma was pretty sure that Goku wouldn't let Vegeta catch up to him, either, but the prince sure was set on reaching that goal. Either way, Vegeta wasn't going to go on any rampages until he met his goal. So, she was safe enough.

And the more she learned about Vegeta, the safer she felt in his presence. Behind that angry mask existed a person just like the rest of them. While he may not be _human_ , he still had goals and ambitions like the rest of them; he still had moments of caring; he still had a past that brought a hazy darkness to his eyes whenever she tried to pry into it. Vegeta was a _person_ , and he was _lonely_ , if his willingness to stay locked into this routine was any indication.

Maybe he looked forward to their mornings. Bulma knew she did.

~!~

Routine was something he understood, something he longed for, something he appreciated and worked to keep no matter what. What his training regiment started up, he kept to his own created schedule like clockwork. And like clockwork, the damn woman popped in at the same points throughout the day.

When she had first caught him in the morning, Vegeta thought that would be the first and last time he saw her. At least at that time of day. But then she started showing up every morning without fail. Every morning at the same time, ready to cook him something else until she found what human breakfast dishes he actually liked. Knowing she could cook at all set him off guard, but what she did manage to successfully make didn't seem all too complicated.

Still, after a few months Vegeta realized he had grown accustomed to her face, her voice, her very blue-eyed blue-haired presence. So much so that he noticed when she was late, when she slept in for far too long. He noticed little things, like how her attitude in the morning was directly related to her ramblings the night before.

Oh, yes, the damn woman caught him in the kitchen late at night, too. Usually with some new dessert. Almost as if it were some peace offering to keep him appeased while she ranted about her day.

Of course he didn't listen, but he wasn't about to turn down food, either. That was one thing he had quickly grown to appreciate about this planet. The food. And the woman's obsessive need to share with him, as if all Saiyans were as food-obsessed as Kakarot. Well, with his training – with the sheer amount of energy he was depleting every day – he couldn't turn down the delectable resource. Listening to her ramble on about her boy toy was a small price to pay, especially when he wasn't actually expected to pay attention.

Still. Thanks to her incessant need to find him in the mornings and late at night, Vegeta's daily routine began to include her. A day or night without her felt strange and empty and his training usually suffered for it. So much so that he once made the mistake of daring to yell at her for breaking their set up. It was easy to cover up his mistake, tossing around mumblings of military upbringing and Frieza's army and the need for consistency in day-to-day activities. Females were expected to keep their share of the routine, too. Mentioning such a thing only served to anger her, but it was better than the alternative.

Vegeta didn't need her. He didn't need anyone. He just didn't like having his routines ruined.

~!~

When their routine came to a sharp and sudden end, Bulma didn't know what to do with herself. She spent the first morning alone in the kitchen, holding her coffee mug close, wondering why such a change could bother her so much. Huddling in her robe, blowing at the steam from her beverage, she stared across the table at where he normally sat and tried to understand why everything felt so shaken up.

Had she created a dependence on accident?

By doing the same thing day after day, Bulma had created an expected interaction for her brain. Every morning. Every evening. And now it was severed.

It shouldn't be bothering her this much. She had a boyfriend. She should have formed a dependence, a need, for Yamcha. Not Vegeta. Why did her brain, her emotions, demand she talk to the angry Saiyan prince?

Bulma scoffed into the silence and decided to go about her day as if everything were normal, finally understanding Vegeta's complaints about her sudden break from routine.

The second morning, she took her coffee to his room. She sat down at the nearby desk and pretended not to care even as she listened to the oxygen being fed through tubes and a mask to help him breathe. It wasn't like he was gone or anything. Just injured. Unconscious in bed after surviving an explosion that should have killed him. Why did she care so much? Why did it bother her to see him so broken?

Her mother had expressed concern. Her father had said Vegeta was lucky to survive after how much strain he'd been putting on his body even before the explosion. Yamcha, on the other hand, said it served him right.

Even now at the reminder, Bulma wanted to slap her boyfriend for being such an uncaring prick. A part of her understood the scorn, understood the jealousy, but some things just went too far. If Yamcha kept at it with his callous attitude, she might go ahead and end their relationship. She didn't want to deal with that kind of negativity when she was just being nice to a lonely fighter who could actually help them against the androids.

If Vegeta would wake up and recover, at least.

Bulma turned concerned blue eyes to the unmoving Saiyan in the bed and sighed with a frown. The selfish idiot had better snap out of it soon. Saiyans were supposed to be resilient, able to withstand way more punishment than the average human. After all the physical torture she'd witnessed Goku take with a smile, she believed Saiyans could handle most anything thrown at them.

Still…

Vegeta wasn't Goku. That much was painfully obvious. There was no telling what Vegeta's threshold was, or where it would cut off. She was worried for good reason, even if she had to keep reminding herself that Vegeta was an alien. He'd get through this.

“ _Why do you care so much?”_

Yamcha's question to her earlier caused her to shake her head and bite her lip. She didn't know. She didn't know why she cared. All she knew was that she couldn't stand to see him alone; she couldn't stand to see him laying there. And...well…

With their routine broken, Bulma didn't know what else to do with her spare time except sit here and wait for him to wake up. Maybe she should distract her mind and look into the plans of the gravity chamber. Maybe she could tweak them. Make things safer.

Because once Vegeta _did_ recover, there was no doubt in her mind that he'd go right back to his insanely harsh training regiment. Bulma knew she couldn't convince him to change but she could at least do her best to make things safer for him next time around. She'd hate for this to happen again.

After all, her own routine was ruined without him in it.


	6. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes: Incoming Yamcha/Bulma break up scene? I don't think you can write anything during these three years without having one of those in some way. Thing is – I don't hate Yamcha. I actually quite like him, honestly. So doing him justice from Bulma's point of view at this point in time has been kind of hard. Especially cause I can't focus on them. This isn't about their relationship. It's about Vegeta and Bulma's relationship. So yeah. Let me know what you think of this? I agonized for a while.
> 
> Words: 2,059

~!~

“ _Oh you poor sap. You're jealous, aren't you?” - Oolong to Yamcha, DBZ, Episode 118_

~!~

Vegeta snapped out of his nightmare with a gasp, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Images from the dream flooded his mind. Images of his father, looking so hopeful and proud. Bright images flashing by of Kakarot as a golden warrior from legend, a Super Saiyan. And that strange boy from the future, too. Both of them. Achieving what he, the Prince of all Saiyans, could not.

He scowled at the reminder and fell back into the world around him, blinking when he felt his head land on soft pillows, when he noticed the blanket, the bed, the bandages. Injured in a bed, then, but it didn't appear (or smell) like a hospital. He was still in that woman's home, but why? What had happened?

As he clawed through memories, Vegeta turned his gaze and felt his thoughts fall away from him. The woman was here in the room, sitting at a nearby desk with her head resting in her arms, breathing so soft and peacefully in her sleep.

_What is she doing here?_

She was the last person he expected to see when he woke up. Oh sure, he'd encountered her every day and night for who knew how long now, but to see her sitting _there_ with her absurdly puffed up hair hiding most of her other features as she slept on her arms. On a desk. Amid papers and charts and whatever else.

Why?

Waking up and recovering from injuries was nothing new to Vegeta. He could vaguely recall the explosion that had caused this particular incident. Vaguely recall her touch and her frustrated yet worried eyes… her pity. He scowled at the reminder. Having some Earthling woman worry over him…

A simple explosion wouldn't stop him. It would only slow him down a bit. He was the Prince of all Saiyans. He didn't need help, especially not _her_ help.

Aches and pain met him as he shifted in the bed. Vegeta growled as he pushed the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A slight dizziness assaulted him when he sat up, but he took a breath and pushed it away like he pushed away the pain. Everything could go to the side. He had to get back to the gravity chamber. He still had work to do.

A stomach growl made his hunger known to the room's silence. Vegeta glanced over to the woman at the sound – how long had she been in here anyway? Getting to his feet, he tossed his own curious question away. He didn't care about her. He didn't need her and he certainly wouldn't thank her.

Vegeta only had two things on his mind as he wrapped up the loose bandages and left the room. Food. And training. Nothing else mattered. He'd already been away from the gravity room for far too long. If he was recovered enough to be awake, he was recovered enough to return to his schedule and routine.

Vegeta frowned at a thought. He'd return to his normal system, assuming they'd re-made the gravity chamber in the first place. Well, he grunted as he walked the halls one rough step at a time, he'd find out soon enough.

~!~

Bulma stomped through the hallways of Capsule Corporation, arms rocking by her side at every step. Her hands were clenched into fists and she resisted the urge to smack every corner or wall or door she passed. She'd already slammed one door on her way out of the room. If she had to cross anymore, she was certain she'd find a way to rock her house with another slam. As it was, her thinly veiled frustration was mostly under control.

Though she had created a mantra to spout through clenched teeth as she walked. “Stupid, stubborn idiot.”

When Bulma woke from her slumber, she had found the patient's bed empty and an almost unnoticeable trail of blood spots starting from the bed and leading through the hallways. To the kitchen, where a large portion of food was missing. Then the bathroom where a pile of bandage wraps had been haphazardly tossed into the trash. At least the dumb ass had the decency to change his bandages before pressing onward with his _stupid_ plan and his _stupid_ goals. (She should probably be thankful he put on more bandages and didn't just take off the ones he was wearing, but now was not the time to applaud the stubborn prince for the little things).

After that, it was anyone's guess where Vegeta had gone because the blood trail stopped. Not that it was a particular difficult guess to make. Bulma's father had built another gravity chamber for Vegeta – with her help this time to add some fail safes. Like the ability for someone on the outside to turn the gravity off, so she could interrupt him if she needed. Of course, extra safety protocols or not, Vegeta should not be anywhere near that gravity machine, which meant without a doubt that was where she would find him.

“Stupid, stubborn idiot,” she growled under her breath again as she picked up her feet once more to crash through the halls. “I can't believe that's the first thing he does when he wakes up. Obsession doesn't _begin_ to explain -”

“Hey, Bulma!”

Upon opening the front door, she froze in place when she met the eyes of her boyfriend. She and Yamcha had gone through some rough patches as of late, but she still considered them a couple. Amid lines of 'don't bother calling again' and 'I don't want to see you' was the ever beating truth of their relationship. No matter what fight they endured, they always ended up crashing back together. Mostly because they had no one else and they'd always had each other.

This time, however, Bulma wasn't so sure she wanted to mend the broken wings. Especially not now.

Putting her hands to her hips, Bulma narrowed her eyes at the goofy smile. “What are you doing here, Yamcha?”

His smile dropped, as did his hand, which he must have raised with the intent of touching her. “Look, Bulma, I know we've been fighting a lot lately, but you've got to listen to me.”

“I'm not in the mood, Yamcha,” she said, turning her head to glare over his shoulder; he was blocking her way outside. “You can apologize later.”

“I'm not apologizing.”

The sheer straight-forward admission in his low voice brought her eyes back to his in a flash. “What?”

His frown deepened. “I said I'm not apologizing.”

“I heard what you -”

“I came to tell you to forget about Vegeta,” his words caught her by surprise and he didn't stop there. “Look, Bulma, you're obsessed with him for some reason and it's going to get you hurt.”

Oh. She saw where this was going. Jealousy had been cute at first, but he just didn't stop. Over and over telling her to back off from Vegeta as if she was doing something worth backing away from. Most of her recent fights with Yamcha had been over this very subject. She'd had enough.

“No.”

Yamcha blinked, his whole posture twitching at the simple but final answer. “No? _No?_ What does that mean? Come on, Bulma, this has gone on long enough. You're getting too close to him. You've been at his bed side since the gravity room exploded and -”

“And now I'm going to give him a piece of my mind for going right back to that gravity training the minute he wakes up!”

With a glare, she picked up her feet and decided to push past him. Thankfully, he turned to let her go, though they did brush arms along the way. A brush, a touch to remind her of all they'd had over the years, of how they push-and-pulled constantly. Strangely enough, her walk past him brought about so many images and memories, like she was seeing her life flash before her eyes.

“Bulma,” he murmured as her steps took her beyond him. “Come on.”

She turned her head, caught his gaze. Dark eyes begging her, pleading her to come back, to forget Vegeta, to remember them. For the first time, Bulma understood his jealousy. How many times had she pushed him aside, walked over him, in order to help Vegeta with something instead? Maybe Yamcha had a point. Maybe she was obsessed with the Saiyan Prince. Maybe something else was tugging her along to the beat of a new drum, some force she couldn't control.

As she stared at Yamcha for those few breaths, Bulma saw everything laid bare. From the first time they'd met in the desert. The hunk she'd fallen for, even with his little oddities that made him freak out at her touch. He'd grown out of those cute fears and learned to touch her in ways to please them both. Young teenagers running along the wind together, adventuring through the night.

Oh, they'd had some rough moments along the way. Back and forth constantly. Giving too much attention. Giving too little. Yamcha flirting with other girls. Her getting frustrated at the little things. There was always something. Their friends expected them to be in the cycle forever, never settling down, because they were _the_ couple of the group. They always had been.

But it was time to grow up. The small, kind gestures of a smile here, a comforting hand on her shoulder there...It wasn't enough. It wouldn't help them last. A relationship like theirs wasn't healthy to sustain forever. Oh sure, if they both grew up together they could make it work somehow.

But they were growing up separately, at different paces, in differing directions.

Feeling tears at the edges of her vision, Bulma shook her head and turned away. To where Vegeta was working himself ragged in the gravity chamber. It wasn't so much that she wanted a relationship with Vegeta. She didn't want anything like that from the Saiyan Prince. All she wanted was to help the lonely soul she saw before her and she couldn't do that if Yamcha was constantly tugging her back.

“It's over, Yamcha,” she said over her shoulder. “But thanks for everything, okay?”

She didn't turn to face him. She didn't want to face him. Her words had a finality that she knew would cut him. He didn't really deserve it; he was a good man; he just...wasn't what she needed and she wasn't the woman he needed either, whether he would realize such a thing now or not.

“Yeah,” she heard him say, his voice hurt but managing. “Anytime.”

~!~

Gravity weighed him down, pressing into all the little aches of the body. With his teeth clenched, he punched the air. First one arm, then the other. Again and again and again. His vision blurred, but he kept on. Push-ups on one hand. A struggle against the gravity. Defiance as he lifted into a hand stand and did more push-ups in the new position.

Bandages covered his arms, his legs, his torso, his head. Everywhere the pain weighed him down. He ignored it, pushed it to the side. Pain was nothing. He was Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans. He wouldn't quit. No matter what.

As the time passed, he lifted into the air. Fighting against the gravity by floating mid-air. In circles he went, clenching his teeth as he fought to keep himself from falling.

The silence was deafening. Why was it so quiet? Why did it bother him? For the first time in forever, Vegeta craved interaction. Something. Anything. He blamed it on the woman, and their routines and her obsessive need to talk to him all the time.

When he felt her ki just beyond the gravity chamber, a strange feeling soared through his being. A little tap of something new. A little reminder that she was still here and still chasing him. When a screen appeared in his vision with her yelling at him for training while still injured, he felt more than frustration at her interruption. He felt complete, like things were back to normal. A semi-normal that he had grown to accept during his time here.

Of course, he didn't dare let her know that.


	7. Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual content in this chapter. Like seriously if you don't like that you can probably just skip this chapter and wait for the next one. Orz.  
> Words: 3, 519

~!~

“ _It's more of a passion kind of thing. You know how stubborn they are.” - Mirai Trunks, DBZ, Episode 122, Funimation Dub_

~!~

As the months passed, their routines returned as well. Breakfast every morning. Dessert every night. And a new weekly routine check, in which Bulma insisted on testing all the fail safes she'd installed in the gravity chamber. He could expect her to interrupt him once a week, though she always changed the day and time as if to purposefully annoy him.

Oh, and her incessant need to chat about anything and everything continued, too. Her parents, her friends, her clothes, her work. She rambled about it all. Except for the one thing she'd ranted about the most.

Her little boy toy no longer came up in conversation. Of course he wasn't about to ask either, but considering he hadn't felt the weakling's ki at all, Vegeta had to assume they were no longer a thing. Which meant the woman was free and open. Not that he cared about such things in the first place.

When the gravity weighing him down slowly shut down, he brought his thoughts up short and glared toward the door where the woman would be entering his domain. Straightening up, he moved to the towel rack and metal bench built into the far side of the room. He grabbed one of the white towels and started wiping his face clear of sweat. Knowing the woman would be in here for a while meant he might as well take a break. After all, he'd quickly learned that her stubbornness outweighed his when it came to his safety.

Such a strange creature to care about so insignificant a thing.

~!~

Bulma stepped into the gravity room, grabbing a wrench from the tool belt around her waist. She twirled it around her fingers and then glanced around the room to find Vegeta in his usual spot. Leaning against the far wall. Towel around his neck. Arms crossed at his chest. Head resting against the wall. Eyes closed.

After so many weeks of this new sort-of routine, Vegeta had grown more and more used to her interruptions. Though his position and aloof attitude made her feel more like a servant girl that he had to merely tolerate, there wasn't much she could yell about if he was willing to cooperate with her check-ups. She tried to catch him off guard by showing up at different points throughout the week, but he seemed to have accepted this, too. Ruffling the haughty prince's feathers was becoming more and more difficult with every passing week. She'd never expected Vegeta to grow so _accustomed_ to her presence, so it was no surprise when she stared openly at his calm demeanor.

He didn't acknowledge her staring, either. In fact, with his eyes closed like that he almost appeared to be sleeping. Or dozing off at least, the jerk. How anyone could be so relaxed in that position was beyond her, but Vegeta did a lot of things that went beyond her expectations.

Shrugging, Bulma turned to the gravity machine. Check-ups. Whether he watched or not, she still had a weekly check-up to manage. Pressing buttons to pull up the different specs, Bulma hummed as she worked. Most of the time, a full sweep of all the mechanical workings took a few minutes and then she was done and out of here. Though she did wish she could linger longer, she was pretty sure Vegeta wouldn't be so willing to tolerate her presence if she pushed too much, too fast.

Except sometimes warning signs showed themselves. Nothing too serious, but even a sensor being a little off set could trip the whole system. After what had already happened, Bulma wasn't about to take any chances. If the machine showed even the slightest problem, she would be on it.

When she noticed a light indicating one such issue, she twirled her wrench between her fingers before kneeling down to unscrew and open one of the panels around the center of the machine's control system. On her hands and knees, she hummed a little to herself and ignored the uninterested gaze of a certain Saiyan Prince hovering on the far side of the wall. Her hair was a little annoying to work around, made obvious as she poked her head into the complicated mess of wirings, so she made a mental note to suck it up and get a haircut. It was time for a new style anyway.

~!~

Vegeta eventually opened his eyes to stare at the woman as she worked. He watched her chew on her bottom lip as she stared at the screen on the main center console. He watched as she absentmindedly scratched at the back of her neck with the tool clutched in such firm fingers. He watched as she tapped at the buttons, as she let out a puff of air between her lips, as she ran a tongue over that abused bottom lip.

He jerked back when he realized he was staring at her mouth. His head cracking against the wall must have made a loud enough noise to be heard by her focused ears because she spared a moment to glance over at him. He quickly turned his head to feign disinterest though his eyes somehow still found hers across the room. Blue and wide and somewhat playful, whether she tossed him that look on purpose or something else was stirring inside him.

A good fight – and therefore a good training session – could easily rile up the Saiyan male hormones. He knew such a thing to be possible. He just never expected to have such an interest in _her_.

He couldn't even decide if she knew what she had stepped into. Certainly as an Earth woman she would have no clue...so why did she keep glancing over here? Scowling at the looks, Vegeta closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Best to just wait on her to finish her routine check up and leave him alone. It shouldn't take much longer. As long as nothing needed to be fixed, she would -

When the woman knelt down in front of the console, pulled aside a panel, and bent her head into the opening...on her hands and knees...wearing such small, tight shorts...baring her legs and leaving so little else to the imagination…

Vegeta groaned as he stepped away from the wall and wondered what had possessed him to open his eyes and steal a glance in the first place. “What are you doing?”

The woman nearly hitting her head at the sudden question, but she did back up from the panel of machinery to huff at him. Still on her hands and knees, too, glancing over her shoulder. He frowned as he looked her over and then realized her eyes were gazing on him in a similar fashion.

When her eyes connected with his, Vegeta growled. He could see the curiosity – and more – in her look now. She wasn't going to fight him if he decided to let the instinctual call drag him along. Why _her?_ He wanted to shut his eyes and stop staring but instead he was caught in the growing smell, the shift in her pathetic ki whether she realized it or not.

Instincts warred inside of him and it took every ounce of control he had to hold himself to the higher standard due his royal upbringing. Oh, he could let the instincts take control, drop down and pin her to the floor, maybe pick her up and push her into the gravity machine, ignoring her screams as he took whatever he pleased.

But he didn't want to do that. Not to her. Not to the pathetically fluctuating ki signature as her weak Earthling senses responded to his instinctual call. His head pounded, demanding he trap her and take her now. She was willing. Her smell, musty, sweaty, as it was… Her breath puffing out of her mouth as she rolled her tongue around her lips… Her eyes staring back, and then blinking with a curiosity and _then_ filling with a playful fire making him internally scream at how his insides ignited at the look.

With a great effort, he turned away from it all, shoved the instincts to the side, tamed the wild, rampant emotions. Not to her. Not with her. She wouldn't understand the concept. A moment of instinctual passion was beyond such an alien world. She'd grow attached, clingy, and he would not be able to stay away without losing the perfect training set up.

He was the prince of Saiyans. He could control his instincts. He could ignore the little waves of her ki pressing against him. He could ignore the smell of want and need and -

“Oh come on!”

~!~

When Vegeta turned away and put his back to her, Bulma growled in frustration. He was the one crowding up in her space in the first place. She hadn't considered sex with him before – okay, yes she had, a lot actually, she'd had dreams and…

She shook her head. The point was, she wasn't against the idea. In fact, she was curious. How much would be like her dreams? How would an alien feel? How _different_ would it be to have sex with a Saiyan?

So, when Vegeta turned away of _course_ Bulma stood up, hands on her hips, and voiced her frustration. “Oh come on!”

He froze almost immediately. She could see his shoulders tense up at her voice, though he kept his back to her. “Woman.”

That was all he said. No further explanation. No complaint. No shout back. No returned fire. Just that. _Woman._ As if he needed nothing else. Except he did because she had no _idea_ how she was meant to interpret the tone in his voice.

“Arrogant bastard,” she growled as she stomped up to stand behind him, walk around him, step in front of him, glare up at him. “I can't read your mind. If you want something, _take_ it. I _dare_ you.”

Maybe she was pushing her luck. Maybe she was pressing ahead too fast, too sudden. Maybe her eyes were reading between lines that didn't exist. Maybe she really was the only one feeling the horny heat in the room.

Whatever the cause, she was stifled by the feel. The look in his eyes hadn't changed at all. In fact, when her words echoed around the chamber his dark eyes shone with a distinctive _lust_ and she recalled a conversation she'd had with Chi-Chi. A curious probe into the workings of Saiyan sex life, particularly Chi-Chi's and Goku's. After all, she'd always wondered how such a clueless, innocent man could ever get around to making love, to creating a baby. Oh, sure, Chi-Chi had dodged the questions, but she _had_ mentioned a few things – like how his eyes changed. No so much an obvious, physical difference, either. Just something Chi-Chi had described as “animalistic lust” along with the ever present sense of Goku “holding something back” whenever they did get into the deed. As Bulma stared back at Vegeta, she gulped at the shimmer she could see in his dark, dark eyes, and she finally understood what Chi-Chi meant by the term _animalistic_.

When his hand touched her bare side, she felt the very _real_ warmth of lust consume her, too. The heat of his hand surprised her, radiating out as he touched her skin, as a thumb poked up under the black tube top she had decided to wear today. She gasped at the feel as if it was the first time anyone had touched her in such a way – and it most definitely was not. But there was something different about him.

The heat, for one. Was it a Saiyan thing to be so warm, so _hot?_ Yamcha had always felt cold on her skin, even in moments of great passion. Vegeta was -

Picking her up, apparently.

~!~

Once the woman stood in front of him and all but demanded she take him, _dared_ him to in fact, Vegeta scowled as all of his blocks fell apart. Everything came undone as he allowed the instincts to run wild. For now, for this precious moment in time, she was not a pathetically weak human female. His mind shut down and accepted the pull to see her as a Saiyan woman, a consort worthy for the prince. No, more than a consort. A mate, perhaps? No, not quite that far. Some special woman granted an audience at the very least, someone worthy and strong and persistent enough to drag him into her game.

Well, he would play with her. It was her fault, snapping into his instinctual sex drive like that, pushing him when he tried to pull away. Whatever happened, if she got hurt, it was her own fault for _daring_ him to let go in the first place.

Feeling her skin beneath his fingertips brought new fire to his being, and Vegeta lifted her light form into the air, brought her to the center console of the gravity machine.

“Wait!” The woman shrieked as he set her down. “What if you hit a -”

Shutting her up had never been so easy. His mouth met hers, swallowing her protests. Her tongue tempted his and soon enough he was drowning himself in her taste. One hand, he rested on her leg to keep her still. The other, he placed on her shoulder, and then ran down her side, his fingers catching and _ripping_ the fabric from her top.

She tried to fight him, tried to complain, but her struggle only heightened the experience in his instinctual addled mind. Saiyans liked a good fight, liked a woman that could make them work… So when her fists pounded against his shoulders, against his back, he smirked into the kiss and kept going. He stole all of her air and then pulled back to watch her pant.

Her blue eyes fluttered as she stared back at him, her hands resting comfortably on his shoulders instead of attacking. “Jerk. What am I supposed to wear when I leave?”

He shrugged. “Not my problem, woman.”

Before she could spout some other nonsense, he grabbed one of her breasts in his hand and kneaded her nipple between his fingers. She shuddered, so he moved again, letting his teeth nab a piece of her skin as he toyed with the pulse point around her neck. Her nails dug into his skin and she groaned, kicking weakly as if to say she wasn't pacified just yet.

All the better for him.

~!~

Bulma bit her bottom lip in an effort to hide the moan bubbling from the back of her throat. She wasn't sure if she was successful. _God_ but his hands didn't leave any spot free. Roaming until he found something worth a little linger. Then making her arch into the touch. And his _teeth_.

He wasn't nice about any of it, biting harshly until she squirmed against him. Her core was already reacting to him and the jerk was just experimenting. But the way he held her down and forced her to accept him… Oh, of course she had dared him into it but for some reason she hadn't expected him to actually go through with it. Whether or not she liked the rough treatment.

When she kicked out at him, trying to get back at him for ripping her tube top like that, he only grunted and grabbed her leg in that vice-like grip of his. She tried to growl and glare at him, but his dark, deep, sensual, _animalistic_ gaze made the breath catch in her throat. That was so different and yet so powerful. A little terrifying, even, seeing such raw emotion from Vegeta of all people, seeing the stoic prince lose control of such a base need.

A hand went to the back of her head, crashing their mouths together again. Bulma closed her eyes and fought his invading tongue, gasping into the kiss as she felt her body being lifted again. Where were they going now? She barely had time to register the thought before her back slammed against something hard and she groaned, her eyes fluttering open to see the ceiling before she shut them again, lost as she was in the throes of passion.

His hands were slipping her free of her shorts and then her panties right behind them. She whined at the feel of such cool air when she only craved more heat. It was getting hard to think of anything else, and frankly, she was so willing to let go. Her own hands found his gravity-defying Saiyan hair, burying into the black mess as he continued to move above her. A breathy moan escaped her lips when his fingers entered her, as if testing the waters, and they both learned how ready she was for more.

So ready.

Her hand traveled down his back, clawing up his skin as she went, and eventually found the last item of clothing left between them. Since he didn't show any sign of helping her, she dug her nails into his shorts and attempted to rip them off the way he had done with her top earlier. She wasn't exactly successful, which only managed to tick her off in the midst of the ever-growing heat.

Feeling his smirk against her neck, she growled and tried to shove him back. He only chuckled at her attempts, which fueled her urge more. She wanted to snap at him but his mouth connected with hers before she could get a word out. He was so forceful, insistent on his pace, tossing her around however he pleased.

When he pulled back in order to slip out of his shorts, she pounced. Bulma knew she'd only have this chance to prove she was no push over, to prove she was a worthy conquest for the prideful Saiyan prince. After all, if she wanted this to happen again, she was going to have to impress that conceited attitude of his.

Whether from surprise or because he let her, Bulma managed to get herself a decent position. In his lap. Controlling their starting pace. Allowing herself to adjust and move according to her own need and desire.

At some point, Vegeta took his control back. Soon enough, they were panting in time as they rolled around the floor together, finding and christening every panel of the gravity chamber. The floor. The walls. The center console again. Anywhere and everywhere, as if he were giving a tour.

Maybe in some ways, he was.

~!~

Knowing that she was craving him too only fueled his raging desire. Beyond what he could handle, beyond what he could control. Being rough with her and hearing her moans and whispers of encouragement… Losing himself in her touch, her sound, her smell.

It was the release he'd been needing.

A part of his mind screamed about being careful. She was just a human female. Her body could only handle so much abuse. And beyond the instinctual urge for a rough love-making session, he kept an eye on her ki. He left marks on her skin, but only those commonly caused by biting and sucking. Maybe a little bruising around her hips as he pounded into her, as she screamed for harder and faster, daring him to snap.

He knew better than to let go completely, even with the haze suffocating him, even with her growing cries. He had enough control to keep himself from destroying her. Enough control to hold back _just_ _at the edge_. The result was a rough ride of balance, a way to control strength and power while still releasing the tension.

Oh, but the release was the best part.

For both of them.

In multiple ways.

~!~

Later that night, Bulma stared into the mirror of her bathroom and gingerly touched her neck, her breasts. Rough and exciting didn't begin to describe it. Oh, but the marks he left would require a wardrobe change or heavy enough make-up to hide the evidence from any prying eyes. Well, who did she have to hide from anyway? Her parents? What would they care? She was an adult. She could take care of herself.

Rough, rude, adventurous relationship with an alien or not.

Relationship. Bulma mouthed the word, tasted it on her tongue as she leaned over the bathroom counter and then let her head hang with an exaggerated groan. There was no relationship. Vegeta didn't want that. _She_ didn't want that, not after breaking up with Yamcha for good after so many years. She was done with relationships.

Lifting her head, staring back at herself, Bulma let a smirk fill her lips. If anything, she had experienced something now, and pushed the lonely prince to accept the company of a lowly Earth woman. She giggled at her reflection, seeing the spark in her own eyes and nodding in teenage agreement. The sex was good, too.

Damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collection Road Map – Next Up – Read “A Thousand Years (GoChi)” Chapter 17


	8. Gateway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I put a note at the beginning of the work but I forgot to let everyone know that the 100 chapters planned isn't going to actually last for all in series canon moments. We get to about 24 chapters before I start making things up. This work doesn't include Resurrection F or Super because those hadn't come out when I originally planned this. But I have some fun stuff in store for later. When we get there. For now, just plan on the 24 chapters and I'll adjust tags when necessary since I'm not sure I'll actually get all the way there before fandom hopping again oi..
> 
> Words: 1806  
> Prompt #8: Gateway

~!~

“ _You’re not going to believe who the father is.” - Yamcha, DBZ Manga, Vol. 12_

~!~

Time passed. Life continued. Bulma and Vegeta never broached the subject of a further relationship, and she was completely fine with it. Routines were enough. Coffee and blueberry muffins in the morning – something she still found amusing even months and months later, watching him devour so simple and common a pastry like it was the greatest thing on Earth. Desserts at night. And of course the weekly checkups on the gravity chamber that led to stress relief for both of them.

Sometimes, Bulma feigned the need for work on the gravity machine, all for the excuse to rile up the stoic Saiyan once more. So she could stare into those dark eyes when they dropped into a rare lust-filled haze. Moments like that allowed her to think she could read his mind, since he was always too quiet to really understand. Whereas Goku wore his feelings on his sleeves and let his thoughts free without a second thought, Vegeta was so reserved and broody. Still so mysterious after all this time, though she could swear she was breaking through his walls little by little.

It was her own personal challenge to drag his walls down. Maybe at some point, she got a little too close and attached. Maybe she shouldn’t have come searching for him all the time. Maybe she should have left him alone and accepted that the routine was all they would ever share.

When the pregnancy test came back positive, Bulma knew her life had come to a sudden halt. The truth of her world shattering hit every nerve from her toes to her head. The sick realization coiled in her stomach, a shudder breaking free as she paced around the hallways and tried to think of how to break the news to a certain someone else. He had a right to know, even if he would be about as happy as she was by the news, which meant _not at all._

Frustration ate at her as she paced. How could this have happened? Had she not kept up on her pills? Had something broken free regardless? Had the half-Saiyan child growing inside her met the challenges of surviving in her womb and surpassed that challenge?

Oh, good grief. She had been around Vegeta too much. With Yamcha out of the picture now, she didn’t have anyone else to turn to for social interaction, considering the vapid state of her parents most of the time. She hadn’t expected to pick up Vegeta’s thoughts about his “perfect” Saiyan upbringing.

Bulma rolled her eyes just at the thought. Then she laughed and rubbed at her forehead, freezing in place in the halls. She was losing her mind. Whatever the case, she was going to have a baby -

\- a vague memory of Goku telling her to have a healthy baby flitted through her mind and then was quickly shoved to the side.

_First order of business: don’t go stressing yourself out, Bulma. You can find the broody prince and talk to him. Tell him the news. Let him know he’s going to be a father._

Because come hell or high water, she _would_ be keeping the child. The thought of having a half-Saiyan child of her own was too tempting to pass up now that it was inevitable. Maybe he could turn out like Gohan. Sweet and studious and packing a heavy punch when necessary. Not that she would be forcing her baby to study as much as Chi-Chi had Gohan, but there could be a balance. After all, with her genes he ought to be a brilliant little genius all on his own.

Or her, she reminded herself forcefully. There was always that habit to immediately assume boys, but no matter what Mr. Broody Prince wanted to believe, she would keep her options open. Of course, she would know as soon as possible considering her access to the latest in technological advances, but, well, they had a little ways to go yet.

Bulma heaved a long sigh. She took a deep breath. She let it out slowly. Rinse. Repeat. Think about the future later. Stress later. Find Vegeta first.

With a determined nod to herself, Bulma stalked her way down the hallways to exit the house and make her way to the latest gravity chamber. It was early enough. He was probably training his life away already. Or at least he should be. The fact that there weren’t any lights flashing around had her curious, and when she stomped across the dew dropped grass to the chamber itself, she frowned to see it hadn’t been opened since last night.

Not here then. Where could he be?

Frowning, Bulma marched her way back into Capsule Corporation and went to work searching each cranny and nook. Vegeta had to be _somewhere_. She had missed their usual early morning routine because she’d felt sick and then she’d done a pregnancy test.

Maybe he was sulking somewhere outside away from the house because she hadn’t made him breakfast. Never could tell with him. Vegeta could disappear without a word, return without so much as an apology for coming back covered in bruises, and return to routine like everything was normal. But heaven forbid _she_ miss one of their mutual routine meetings. He’d be ranting and raving if he found her.

So, then, where did he run off to? And how long would she have to wait for him to return? Damn, the anxiety of waiting was going to mess everything up. He’d better come back soon so she could give him an earful for disappearing without notice again. Disappearing when she had such important information to share with him.

Damn.

Might as well celebrate with her parents, then. At least they would be overjoyed and ready to pamper her.

~!~

Vegeta stood on a plateau in a wasteland, staring up at the stars in the night sky. After a tough day of training out in the wilderness instead of his usual gravity chamber, he debated about returning to _that woman’s_ home. Sure, that Earthling scientist had created something wonderful for his training, but no matter how much stronger he got, he had yet to unlock the power of a Super Saiyan. Day after day, he struggled and yet nothing he did bore any fruit.

He could even sense Kakarot growing stronger as the days passed. Clenching his fingers into fists at his side, Vegeta growled into the darkness. So much effort and _still_ he continued to linger behind that low class Saiyan. It was infuriating. He was Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans, the one destined to unlock the greatest power of the Saiyan race and yet that bumbling compassionate oaf had beaten him to the punch, becoming the warrior of legend and defeating Frieza. _His_ destiny. _His_ revenge. Ruined by Kakarot.

Nothing made him angrier. Nothing else plagued his thoughts day and night. Nothing else interrupted his sleep with nightmares of forever being left in the dust by a Saiyan who had been born to be beneath him. How could this have happened? How come he couldn’t catch up to Kakarot’s power, much less pass him?

Maybe the answers lay beyond the stars. If he couldn’t unlock his true potential and birthright on this planet, then maybe he should go somewhere else. After all, Kakarot had unlocked Super Saiyan elsewhere. Vegeta had done so much more gravity training than Kakarot and yet it got him nowhere; stronger, yes, but not strong enough. Never _enough_.

Not to mention that _boy_ was a Super Saiyan as well. Not to mention that not only had Kakarot defeated Frieza – Vegeta’s utmost goal since he was a child – but that stranger from the future or whatever had come and turned Frieza’s patched up cybernetic self into cold cuts. Both of them Super Saiyan while he, their _prince_ , was left growling and choking on their dust.

Screaming into the night air, Vegeta rocketed his power, feeling it jump and fold around him. The warmth covered him from head to toe and spread out, shaking the ground underneath him. The earth shattered as his energy grew beyond his body and tore everything in its path to shreds. So much power. So much strength. So much that he had gained from his training. And yet...and yet... _it wasn’t enough!_

Shooting into the sky, he flew away from the plateau and the wasteland. He would return to that woman’s home. Not to see _her_ , but to take a spaceship and disappear again. He had to find the answers somewhere, somehow. If it meant traveling the universe until the secret was revealed, then so be it.

It wasn’t like anyone here would sorely miss him anyway. Even that blasted woman would probably prefer him out of her hair, no matter how many times she spread her legs for him, no matter how much that routine of theirs felt comfortable to him now.

~!~

Bulma realized he was gone the next morning. Her father mentioned something about the spaceship disappearing, and she knew immediately. Vegeta had left in the middle of the night, off to who knew where, returning who knew when.

Oh, he’d be back. She knew for sure he wouldn’t go off and hide away forever. He had too much riding on his precious little pride. He’d come back if only to fight Goku.

Well, she hoped he had an awful time out there. Abandoning her when she was pregnant with his child! It didn’t even matter if Vegeta knew about her pregnancy. She still felt abandoned. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell him. She glared down at her stomach as if she could feel the little life growing there already.

“Your father’s an asshole,” she muttered. “I don’t care what happens to him, and neither should you. I’m all you need.”

“Oh, Bulma, who are you talking to?”

She sighed and pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes, leaning into the table. She wouldn’t cry. That would be dumb. Her father wouldn’t understand and then he’d start fussing – or he’d say something entirely inappropriate or off topic.

Biting her lip, Bulma stared down at her sad breakfast without answering her father. He didn’t seem to mind anyway, since he took his coffee and disappeared out of the kitchen. Her mother was who knew where doing who knew what. So she was alone again. Alone without a certain stupid, selfish, aggravating Saiyan prince to keep her company anymore.

Their routines had been broken before, but this took the cake. Because he left without saying a single word to her. Knocked her up and then left in the middle of the night. Damn Saiyan asshole. She’d give him a piece of her mind whenever he did return.

Because, somehow, she knew he would.


End file.
